SaferShadows on 2/12/2024 at 19:10
With ChatGPT I tried writing various missions from Thief 1 in first person, here's Bafford's Manor, it seems mostly accurate but it's not perfect:
Shadows of Bafford’s Manor
The sewers reeked of stagnant water and mildew, a stench that clung to my nose and soaked into my clothes. A faint trickle echoed down the passage, the only sound apart from my careful steps. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, as if it might shield me from the damp air. It was as cold as the City's disdain for me—a chill that lingered in forgotten places like this.
The faint glimmer of my oil lamp illuminated the narrow stone corridor ahead, casting jagged shadows on the moss-covered walls. Bafford’s Manor loomed above, its opulent halls hidden from sight, but its wealth was no secret. A scepter, gilded and encrusted with jewels, awaited in his private collection. A pretty trinket for the City’s nobility; a treasure worth its weight in gold for someone like me.
I reached the sewer grate. It was rusted and worn, but the lock had been broken long before my arrival. I eased the heavy metal open, mindful of the scrape it could make against the frame. The darkness beyond was inviting in its own way—a promise of shadows to conceal me. Pulling myself up through the grate, I emerged in a small, cramped basement lit only by the faint glow of a single torch flickering on a sconce nearby.
The basement smelled of damp stone and decay. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly along one wall, some marked with symbols of the nobility. Likely, they were filled with overpriced wine or silks. My footsteps were silent against the cold floor, thanks to the soft soles of my boots.
I stopped short. Voices. A pair of guards were chatting near the stairs that led up to the main manor. Their laughter was coarse, filled with the careless confidence of men who believed their night shift would be uneventful. I crouched, blending into the darkness between the crates, and waited. Their conversation soon faded as one of them moved further down the hall, his boots echoing faintly.
The remaining guard leaned against the stair rail, shifting his weight lazily. I slipped behind him, careful to keep my movements slow and deliberate. The shadows welcomed me, and soon, the guard was out of sight. I climbed the stairs, pausing briefly to listen at the heavy wooden door at the top.
The air changed as I pushed the door open slightly. It was warmer here, scented faintly with candle wax and the rich aroma of roasted meats. Bafford's wealth was evident even in the servants' quarters. The ground floor was a labyrinth of stone halls and wooden doors, most of which were closed. I avoided the central corridors, sticking to the edges where shadows were plentiful.
The kitchen lay ahead, its large hearth glowing with embers. A scullery maid hummed softly to herself as she scrubbed pots at the sink. She was oblivious to my presence as I crept past, keeping to the edges of the room. A platter of fruit sat on a side table—apples and grapes, polished to perfection. I considered taking one but decided against it. No sense in leaving unnecessary traces.
The dining hall was next, its grand table set with fine china and silver cutlery. A tapestry depicting some long-forgotten battle hung on the far wall, its colors dulled by time. I slid through the room quickly, avoiding the light from the chandeliers above. This was not my destination.
The stairs to the upper floor were guarded, as I’d expected. Two men, both armed with swords, stood at the foot of the grand staircase. I couldn’t take them head-on—not without a fight. Instead, I circled back, finding a smaller servant’s staircase tucked away behind a heavy curtain.
The upper floor was quieter, though no less opulent. Plush red carpets muffled my footsteps, and the walls were adorned with gilded frames holding portraits of Bafford's ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me as I moved. I passed a library, its shelves crammed with dusty tomes, but I had no time to linger.
My target was Bafford's private quarters. The scepter was kept in his display room—a space guarded more heavily than the rest of the manor. A door creaked open somewhere down the hall, and I froze, pressing myself against the wall. A guard emerged, yawning and stretching as he walked past. I waited until he disappeared around a corner before continuing.
The trophy room was locked, but the hinges were old, and the wood had seen better days. A careful shove with my shoulder was enough to nudge it open without making much noise. The room was dimly lit by a single chandelier, its light reflecting off the glass cases that lined the walls.
There it was, resting on a velvet cushion within a locked case: the scepter. It sparkled even in the low light, its gold surface etched with intricate patterns. A keyhole taunted me, but I wasn’t about to fumble with lockpicks here. I reached into my pouch and pulled out a small tool—a glass cutter. After a few precise movements, I removed the pane quietly and reached inside.
The scepter was heavier than it looked, but it fit snugly in my hand. For a moment, I allowed myself a small smile. Then, I heard the footsteps.
They were coming from the hall outside. A patrol had changed, and now they were heading toward the trophy room. I extinguished the chandelier with a quick blow, plunging the room into darkness, and slipped into the shadows near the door. The guards entered, their torches casting flickering light over the empty display case.
“Thief!” one of them shouted.
I didn’t wait to see what they would do next. While they examined the room, I slipped out, retracing my steps to the servant’s staircase. The manor was waking up now, with guards shouting orders and searching rooms. My heartbeat quickened as I made my way back to the basement.
The sewers were as uninviting as before, but they were a welcome escape. The sound of pursuit faded behind me as I descended into the cold, dark tunnels. The scepter was mine, and soon, its worth would be measured in gold.
Another night, another job well done.
